Run, Boy, Run
by strawberrywine17
Summary: Gilbert wasn't sure how the gunfire lasted. It could have been minutes, could have been hours, but he didn't hide like he had always been taught. No one had ever told him what happened to those who didn't follow this protocol simply because no one had ever been stupid enough to go against it. ...But perhaps it was time to find out.
1. Brand New Day

**A/N- I have a thing for stories with totalitarian societies. This fic is heavily inspired by books like Fahrenheit 451, Brave New World, and 1984. That being said, please take note that I don't condone nor endorse a totalitarian, communistic, or even socialistic governmental system. Please enjoy!**

The sun came up as it always had. It peered over the cold white city, over the streets of black, lighting the world with rays that mocked their purpose of heat. There was nothing special about it, nothing new. It was the usual, untouched by change or challenge, uncontested in its steady preparation for the day.

Gilbert woke in much the same fashion. He was roused by the loud buzzing of the alarm clock on his bed, the new one that projected the words, 'Good Morning,' across his ceiling in harsh green lines. He reached out and touched a button on the tiny cube. It gave a beep for confirmation, and the light on the ceiling went out.

He pushed back the covers of his bed with a practiced fluid motion. The light-blue blankets were stark against the grey metal of the room, but that was normal. He knew every other house looked exactly like this. Of course it did. The bed was bolted to the floor for safety, and even the off-white slippers he put his feet into were standard issue. Gilbert rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he walked down the empty hallway, into the equally bland kitchen.

From the white refrigerator he pulled a pre-made breakfast. It was a bowl of eggs, sausage, and hash browns, all together in what he knew to be a delicious combination. Some people liked the burritos, or the sandwiches. Not him. He liked it nice and simple. Besides, who could want such delicious ingredients in a shell or between bread? Not he. Plain. That's how he liked it. He preferred to leave those strange combinations to the more adventurous types of people.

While it was warming inside the black microwave on the metal counters, he turned and went into the bathroom. He stripped off the soft yellow pajamas, then stepped into the shower. Gilbert had heard stories when he was in school about how people before the New Age had to wash themselves. It was a funny notion, and he shook his head to it as he pressed a green button on the wall and stuck his arms out to his sides. The jets on the walls pulsed water and soap, cleaning him in under a minute. He pressed the blue one next, and holes next to the jets hit him with air, drying him the same way.

Gilbert picked up a new set of clothes waiting for him in the wall, the ones that were delivered daily. They were so lucky to have a city that was willing to even clean their clothes for them. He grasped the handle of the shoot and opened it, pleased to see he would be wearing a deep green outfit for the day. He liked green. It always went well with his black sneakers. Gilbert dressed and ran his hands down the pressed cotton of his shirt and pants, ridding it of nonexistent wrinkles. The city did an excellent job, as always. There were never any faults in the matching uniforms.

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was white, silver really, because of a genetic condition. The city had allowed him to live because it was an easy fix- they gave him hair dye, and contacts for his red eyes. Gilbert had seen his natural hair only when the dye was wearing off, and it made him feel ashamed. He wanted to be equal to everyone else. It was a very good thing he was in constant supply. Since his last dye a week ago, he couldn't see any white, and so he was very pleased with his black hair. Brushing it down into a tame style, he nodded to himself in a mirror that was there. From a little green case he took out his contacts and put them in, coloring his irises into a pleasing light brown.

Feeling normal once more, he returned to the kitchen where his breakfast bowl had finished cooking. He took it from the microwave and sat at the wooden table and chair set he had bought, cushions a light green color. It made him smile- he was wearing green, and he was sitting on a green chair. It was quite exciting.

Once he was finished eating, Gilbert threw away the plastic bowl and brushed his teeth. He took one last look in his mirror, making sure that his contacts were in perfectly. They were, and he was reminded just how lucky he had been to be allowed to live with such a disorder, and then he was out the door.

His steps went down to a small lawn, perfectly manicured, cared for by the city. To the left and to the right were lines of houses exactly like his. The only difference of the perfectly shaped metal homes were the black numbers that crossed the front of the doors and matching numbers on the curb. It made it easy to find houses and to get the right things delivered with ease. It wasn't for the citizens except to find their own homes, considering that the places they gathered were all public. It wasn't that it was forbidden to go to someone else's house, but it was quite certainly frowned upon.

Gilbert walked down the sidewalk quietly, his mind full of static. There was no tune in his mind, no whistle ready on his lips. Just the mind numbing sounds of the world waking around him, several more people coming out of their houses to join him on the sidewalk, all in a single file line to get to the bus stop that would whisk them off to their job.

The bus was black and plain. Stacked double, people walked in and climbed stairs to get to the top floor, and once that was filled, stayed on the bottom level and filled those seats. Just like always, every seat was occupied except for one at the front far right. It was reserved for certain people only- what kind, no one knew, and no one questioned. It just another funny little quirk that their perfect society had.

Gilbert sat in his usual place- third row from the front, bottom floor, against the window. A young woman with pretty brown hair and gentle eyes sat beside him, just as usual, and they shared a nod before looking straight ahead. The ride was quiet, as was normal, the radio on the bus sharing a story that had been continuing on for some time now.

All the radios had stories. Depending on one's mood, there were four stations to turn to and hear these interesting, wonderful stories. The one playing now was about a girl going to school. It was nice for everyone because the narrator went over the lessons that the teachers gave to the girl. Because they were the same lessons they were taught, it was relatable, and so it kept everyone invested in the story.

A day in the story had passed by the time they arrived at work. The announcer cut off, allowing them the freedom to leave the bus with no complaints, because they surely would miss nothing when they were aired at times everyone could listen. One by one, they left the bus. In the same single file line, they walked across a sidewalk, past a large, immaculate lawn, and into a glass skyscraper. It was just like all the ones around it, white and bland and simple. The transition from the white metal houses to the white metal businesses was a change that no one noticed and no one questioned.

They entered in, and various signs in the tiled, clean lobby spoke of where different professions went. Gilbert broke of with the same group of people that he did every day, and headed to the elevator. With them was the girl with the brown hair from the bus, but they didn't share a nod. They had already shared a well enough greeting until lunch time. The bell rang multiple times until the elevator reached the forty-third floor. Leaving some of the people behind, the little group that did the same job as Gilbert all stepped out. They headed through the reception desk and to their personal cubicles, where they logged onto the computers that were touch screen and set in the walls.

The computers were less set into the walls and more the __actual__ walls. One small little black table was in the corner of the cubicle, and Gilbert was pleased to see that his daily cup of coffee was already placed there and ready to go for the day. Everyone got coffee. Sitting in the comfy wheeling chair, he scooted over to pick up the cup. It smelled delicious, the cream color easy on the eyes. Gilbert learned in school that coffee used to be dark in color and very unhealthy. What was given now was a hybrid of that version, was much healthier, and was light in color. He wasn't sure all that was in it, but it seemed to him that whatever was added could only benefit them. How nice it was to have a government that cared not only about their productivity, but their health as well.

He blew on it and took a sip, then placed it down again. With a few swipes of his finger on the electronic wall, he was signed in for work. Gilbert picked up the earpiece that was lying beside the coffee and fit it around and in his ear, and then he was put to work on his job for the day.

Work changed daily. It kept employees entertained and focused, and no one seemed to notice that it was only seven different jobs that were similar and circulated every week. It was the beginning of the week, so Gilbert was instructed to go through a series of problems set up by the server. It was to test his ability to do math, and though he struggled a little, it wasn't a bad ordeal. The cute borders along the puzzles and the occasional encouragement from the earpiece helped immensely.

That was how the hours passed. Math problems passed, a voice gave kind words every once in awhile, and he paused only long enough to retrieve the provided lunch from the commons before he went back to work. Chatter existed in that small room, where the employees spoke of their daily tasks, or asked what others were doing after work ended. As for Gilbert, he stayed back; he didn't want to make plans with anyone else. A new movie was coming out that night at the community theater, and he wanted to see it. Sure, it would be more fun if he went with someone else, but he hadn't gotten up the courage to ask that brunnette from his bus, and it had been a long time since he had seen his friend.

Ah, yes. His friend. What was his name again? Gilbert frowned, pausing with the fork inside his mouth, the bite of a succulent pork sandwich long since swallowed. He could remember blonde hair, always too long, always getting him in trouble. It was a sweet voice, too, that belong to him; words like honey dripped from a tongue much too loose in its ideas. It had been a long time since he had been sent to a center to reevaluate his education. Gilbert knew that the man had come from somewhere else in the country, but hadn't thought that would ever be a problem. Perhaps he had simply grown up in a bad Education Sector. Sometimes that happened, he heard.

Ah, well. There was nothing he could do about it now. And nothing he could try to do that would make it any better. It was a much more preferable option to simply do as he had been told- forget about those that would soon forget themselves.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Gilbert was very happy. Of course he was. He was safe, useful, and he wasn't disobeying. Overall he counted it as a good day as he packed up and left the building. He boarded the same bus, sat next to the same girl, was taken back to the same house, and after some quiet tidying of the clean place, he took the same bus as everyone else did to get to the movies. He was the only one that was not quietly chattering with someone, but he didn't mind. It wasn't like he was all that lonely. No, definitely not. Soon he would find new friends, and they would all go to the movies together- or perhaps to the sports centers, or the recreation rooms, or maybe even down to the river. That was always a fun endeavor, though should he choose that, it would have to be with a certain group of people. Not many were willing to venture there despite the fact they were most definitely allowed. The only thing they could not do was go into the river or cross it by any means. That, Gilbert and everyone else knew, meant immediate transfer, undergoing reeducation (or ReEd for short), and being assigned somewhere that might not be as nice. Nobody wanted that.

The movie theater was packed, as normal. The line was long and he tapped his fingers on his thigh. Once it was his turn, Gilbert simply extended his wrist. There was a tattoo there, from long long ago, and when the woman holding the tickets ran a small bar over it and it flashed his profile up onto the monitor beside her, she pressed a button and buzzed him in. Movies were always free. Some of the sports were not, similar to the way the Night Center offered services as long as there was the money to go with it. Of course, everyone could go if they wished to. Everyone was paid well, and there was no need to spend it on any necessities, so it was just fine to go to any Center wished. Though Gilbert didn't go to the Night Centers.

It wasn't because he thought they were a waste of time. No, it was simply because he did not have such strong urges as other people did. He was comfortable in his quiet, self revolving life, and didn't need to visit the sterile Workers there, no matter the gender. He didn't frown upon those who did, of course, as it was their decision. He has no right to pass judgement. Only the government did.

The movie itself was nice. It was some comedy, little quips of humor here and there, intermittent with views of the sprawling Capital, of the people happy there, of life fun and rewarding. A new plot, of course, different from the last three comedies he had seen, but no less enjoyable.

By the time he stepped out of the building, the sky had grown dark. A few buses were waiting for them, and when they all climbed in, he could see the Night Center from his window. His lips twitched faintly; why, he wasn't completely sure. There were buses there too, people just starting to step off, talking and laughing as they passed through the doors and into the facilities. The sight wasn't there long before the vehicle whined softly underneath them and they began to head home.

Gilbert's mind was quiet for the ride. He tried not to think about what the day had been like; his eyes watched listlessly out the window as the streets, all identical, all the same, all…

 _ _Lifeless.__

His jaw twitched again and he drew his gaze from the window, moving it instead to his lap. Fingers jumping, tapping out a rhythm he didn't know, he struggled with a strange upwelling of feeling he wasn't used to trying to choke him. He didn't know what it was. He wasn't sure if he was ever going to. It was a bad thing, it had to be, because it kept pushing the thought of __wrong__ onto him with every house that passed by.

The stupor didn't last long. Great wheels grinding to a slow, smooth stop, the bus doors opened quietly. People started filing off. When it was his turn, he walked out, and began down the sidewalk towards his house. The night lights were glowing- round orbs of light set just inside the grass of people's lawns, having taken the place of the ancient street lamps that were hard to fix should they break and possibly doom those in need of their guidance. In his head, Gilbert counted them down as he walked back from the bus stop.

 _ _Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one…__

The sound of shutting doors reached him. It wasn't the harsh, metallic clang that he always seemed to expect; instead, the layer of plastic that bubbled around the inside edge of the door kept it nice and quiet, sealing off the occupant from the world until the next morning would come.

 _ _Twelve, eleven, ten…__

Ah, yes. The next morning. The next morning where everything would be the same. The sun would come up as it always had. It would peer over the cold white city, over the streets of black, lighting the world with rays that mocked their purpose of heat. There would be nothing special about it, nothing new. It would be the usual, untouched by change or challenge, uncontested in its steady preparation for the day.

 _ _Three, two, one…__

Sirens.

Gilbert snapped his head up. Wailing sirens emitted from the street lights- a great double usage of them. Everywhere around him, people broke off running to get to their homes, the bus long gone. The siren was not unkind. It was a low tone, intermittently interrupted by a calm voice instructing everyone to go inside. If Gilbert didn't know he was already an albino, he would have been sure he had turned completely white.

He ran up his walk, hesitating only briefly to look down the street; he could see nothing, but that didn't mean nothing was there. Letting out a breath he entered his house and slammed the door shut, locking it, the bubble of plastic inflating to create an airtight seal. The sirens were never good. The only reason the sirens went off were because someone was causing trouble, or someone had spotted someone from the Pack.

The Pack, Wolf Pack, the Wolves, whatever they were called, they were awful. Rogue citizens, evil citizens, more beast than human, all wishing to destroy the way of life that everyone knew. Raids, attacks, the whole works- Gilbert had learned about that in his Education Sector. The government had handled the villains well; the attacks stopped. For six years there had been peace. He could barely recall the way the voice had sounded back then because of the complete and utter silence the group had taken on, and many people believed that the threat really had been eliminated. That they could keep living in peace. But maybe that was just gossip.

The sirens continued to repeat the same phrases, same calming words, muffled by the walls of his home. Carefully, Gilbert lowered himself into a chair. He was supposed to go into his bedroom, put in little earpieces to feed him stories and calming incentives, and not worry about it. The government would take care of it. He knew that and yet he… He wanted to know.

Minutes passed. He grew irritated at the repeated phrases, lips pursed together, but his features set in a stubborn façade. And then, all of a sudden, he could hear a noise. A very strange noise, popping, loud, and most importantly, __getting closer.__ Guns. Someone was shooting guns. No- multiple guns. Gilbert pressed his hands over his ears but it still came through, __brrap! brrap!,__ pounding into his head like nails were being pounded slowly into his skull.

Gilbert wasn't sure how the gunfire lasted. It could have been minutes, could have been hours, but he just didn't care. It would have been better had he gone in his bedroom like he was supposed to, drown out the treacherous people defying their government, drown out the ideas that violence like this could seed in one's mind. But he didn't, and he didn't want to risk moving, hardly dared to __blink__ should someone know about it. No one had ever told him what happened to those who didn't follow this protocol simply because no one had ever been stupid enough to go against it.

The gunshots got closer and louder until Gilbert was sure they were right outside his house. His muscles screamed at him for standing still, but as he stood, they screamed at him for that, too. And then…

The gunshots stopped.

The sirens fell quiet, too. For a moment, the world didn't breathe. Limbo gripped every inch of life, captive, like black tendrils rooting everything in its place. Silence. Absolute silence. And then there was a thud from back in his bedroom.

Gilbert jumped. He turned. Hands curled up by his chest in the form of fists, for what reason he didn't know as he had never fought a day in his life, and advanced into his room. What greeted him there was not something he could have expected. Not in real life, not in his wildest dreams, not in his worst nightmares. Had his heart not been beating so hard he could feel it against his ribs, he could have sworn that he had somehow managed to become completely delusional, insane even.

Laying on his bedroom floor was a man; a man with dirty hair that fell in his face, bright green eyes, and dressed in jeans and a sleeveless plaid shirt. A mask covered the bottom half of his face and looked an awful lot like the maw of a wolf, open and bloody, midway into a snarl. What was the worst part, however, was that the stranger had not only climbed through his window, but that he held a gun in his hand and was bleeding at the shoulder, crimson pouring from a hole that Gilbert couldn't look straight at.

"Say one damn word," the stranger hissed, his voice accented strangely, free hand pressing to his ragged bullet wound, "and I will not hesitate to slit your fucking throat."

He didn't say anything. In fact, he wouldn't be saying anything for quite awhile. The last thing Gilbert saw before he passed out was the flicker of the lights that indicated it was time for everyone to go to sleep.

How ironic.


	2. Eighteen

Today was Lovino's birthday.

His eighteenth, to be exact.

He awoke with a burning in his chest, his fingers shaking, and an uncharacteristic grin spread over his face so wide he thought he just might tear his face in two. It wasn't like he was usually like this. In fact, it was almost always the opposite, where he started the day with a scowl, with his brows set low to get ready for the business ahead, with fingers curled into fists to stop any sort of rising voice against him. Not that he didn't listen to the others. In fact, he had close advisors, people that kept him on track. Didn't mean that there weren't idiots, though.

Pushing the sheets to his small cot aside, Lovino pushed himself up to his feet. The blanket was worn but warm, and he didn't bother to take a moment to pull it back up, leaving it unkempt. Pulling a new set of clothes from a small trunk at the end of the bed, he quickly changed, casting the other articles back into the chest. The room was tiny, the walls metal and the ceiling low. In one corner sat an old, worn desk, the surface clean. A mirror stood beside it, and he bent slightly to see into it, running his fingers through his admittedly curly hair. He planned on straightening it out later on, but didn't actually know if he'd have time- he was to be awfully busy today, after all.

The only two items on the desk was a bulky looking object and a lamp. Lovino flipped on the bare bulb, then turned to the other object, picked it up and turned it around, making sure that it was intact. It was kind of important that it was in excellent condition, considering it was his gas mask. A wide elastic band that split into two was connected to a sizeable piece of metal. It curved around, protruding a few inches in thickness, and was melded into the shape of a muzzle. Metal teeth had been carved into the front, reaching around the sides slightly, looking for all the world the muzzle of a wolf. Dulled, triangular sections spiked out to each side to appear like fur, further behind which were two black boxes a few inches across wherein contained the filters needed. Three slits sat just before those on the mask itself to allow air in; the blackened tip for the wolf's nose was more for show than for actual use. A circular button was on the right filter box that activated the system.

Lovino didn't put it on. He simply slid it around his neck and let it rest on his chest, the heavy metal a comfortable weight after how long he'd been wearing it. Six years, to be exact. Six years, worn on his chest or on his face every day, staking his position in the Pack. By now it was second nature, and he thought nothing of it as he pressed his hand to a dark plate mounted beside the door. A quiet hum resounded; the door moved forward an inch or so, and then slid left into the wall itself. While Lovino knew the blueprints to the entire thing, he was still impressed with the mechanics of it all. For a bunch of rebels, the whole place was pretty amazing.

He stepped out into the hall and the door hissed shut behind him. Before the young man was the beginning of a sprawling expanse of underground tunnels. Lovino could still remember when his grandfather had told him about this- about what it had taken to just get a few tunnels dug, the days the founders had slept on the surface with gas masks in case canisters were dropped on them, had makeshift shelters in case a plane opened fire. Not exactly typical bedtime stories, but ones that made the people that had built this place into heroes.

Taking a deep breath, he set off down one of the halls. His steps were quick and determined, boots clicking faintly on the silver tiles. It wasn't long until he began to run into people. They waved to him, said hello, and a few even congratulated him on his turning of age. Accepting each with grace, he continued on his path until he made it to a certain, special room.

From under his shirt he produced a necklace that he never took off. A key, not a keycard, lay at the end of it, and he used the long chain to his advantage to set the device into a small hole in the wall beside the metal door without taking it off, turning it to activate the system. A soft beep resounded; once the key was pulled out, the door opened in the same manner that Lovino's had. It was the only special bedroom in the whole of the network of tunnels. Originally it had held his grandfather, the leader of the operations. Now, though, it contained someone that Lovino believed to be much more important- the living were often placed in front of the dead, after all.

He stepped inside and the metal hissed shut behind him. The lights were still off but he could see a figure curled up under blankets in the bed in the corner. As he was careful now, not a sound echoed in the room, and he bent down when he was close to the mattress. A faint smile curled up Lovino's lips when he saw his younger brother sleeping peacefully. But, he had slept in. And the elder planned to fix that.

"Feliciano," he hummed, poking the boy's cheek. "Come on. Get your lazy ass up." His only response was a bit of a groan and Feliciano swatting his hand away. Not taking no for an answer, Lovino instead slipped his hands underneath the blanket and set to tickling his brother's sides. The reaction was almost instantaneous- Feliciano's eyes darted open and he shrieked quietly, arching away from the touch.

Trying in vain to squirm away from the elder, Feliciano only managed to get himself caught up against the wall. "Lovi!" he yelled, laughing. "Lovi, stop it! Stop!" It wasn't often that Lovino woke his brother up in such a kind way, and he could tell the shock from the way his brows were drawn down sharply and his tone was colored with confusion.

"Are you going to get up?" he asked, smirking. Feliciano nodded quickly, wheezing, and Lovino let up. Plopping down beside him on the bed, he was quickly fixed with a pout.

"What was that for?" Feliciano demanded with a whine. "You never do stuff like this."

He shrugged. "No. But you seem to be forgetting what today is." Amusement covered his face as he watched Feliciano search for some event he had forgotten only for realization to dawn on him. It was only a shred of thought at first, but a grin soon overtook the younger as he scrambled over to the edge of the bed to push on a button on his alarm clock.

The numbers changed from the time to the date and before he knew it, Lovino was being tackled onto the bed in a hug. "It's your birthday!" the younger squealed. "Happy birthday! Big brother, you're getting so old!"

Snorting, Lovino carefully patted the other's head, not bothering to try and push either of them up. "Eighteen, Feli. I'm finally eighteen. You know what that means…!"

Suddenly, all traces of happiness had drained from his features. Feliciano sat up. "No. No, Lovi, don't tell me you're-"

"I have to. I promised Nonno I would. You know I've been looking forward to this." Balancing his weight on his elbows, a pair of soft green eyes watched the contempt and the uneasiness that Feliciano had no ability to hide. "It's finally time. I waited, I waited like you asked me to, but it had to happen sometime. You know that." He watched with dismay as his brother's honeyed gaze became disturbed by tears. Reaching out, Lovino cupped his cheeks, ready to catch any tears with his thumbs. It didn't seem any were falling now, but he was sure they would soon. That was just the type of person Feliciano was.

"But why? Why do you have to go? I don't want you hurt."

"Would you rather I go out and fight this war, or sit here and live the rest of my life afraid and in a metal cave? ...Never mind. I know the answer to that."

Lovino let his hands fall from the boy's cheeks. The younger only sniffled, but nodded. Of course he knew. Feliciano had never been quiet about his opinion regarding what they were doing here. Sure, he agreed, that it was better than what awaited them in the other society, but he didn't like that his brother was in charge of the whole operation. Supported him, yes, offered insight to situations that the members of the Pack would never directly tell Lovino, of course, but he never was happy with it. Lovino doubted he'd ever be alright with it.

Standing, he jerked his head. "Come on. Let's get breakfast. I'll let you scout with Ludwig today, okay?"

That, at least, got Feliciano to look up at him. "Really?" Ludwig and he were great friends. Ever since the two had met years earlier, when they were both only just entering their teenage years, they had had an almost unbreakable bond. To anyone there it was clear that the bond reached deeper than just friendship. The pair didn't know that, however, and kept up the charade that they weren't more than close friends, which suited Lovino just fine. It meant he didn't have to actively acknowledge anything, and didn't have to be witness to any potentially sickening displays of affection.

With a sigh, he nodded. "I said you could, didn't I?" he asked, brow raising. A feeling of relief rose in his chest as a smile crossed his younger brother's features. "Now come on. We've got breakfast to get to, and after that, I need to make sure all the preparations are ready to go."

Feli jumped up and hurried out the door. Except, he grabbed the frame on the way and swung back, surprising Lovino both in the sudden movement and in the fact that the poor kid didn't fall like he would have expected. "Oh, oh!" he cried. He reached under the thin mattress and pulled out a package no bigger than his hand, wrapped in brown paper. Eyes beaming with something akin to pride, he presented it to the elder. "Happy birthday, Lovi."

The paper was neatly folded and came off easily. It was a simple, long piece of black leather tied into a necklace, a ring threaded onto it. Brows furrowing, Lovino picked it up and turned it around, peering at it, until realization hit like a kick to his stomach. The metal was tapered in that the underside was more narrow than the opposite side, the silver shining brilliantly. The only adornment on the otherwise smooth band was a flower sketched into the widened top. A small, bright red jewel was set into the center of the blossom. An amaryllis flower, Lovino knew, from the many times that he had handled the ring from years past.

Gaze darting up, he knew his shock was plain on his face. "Feli… This is-"

"Grandpa's ring, I know." The eager smile had eased into a softer, more bittersweet one. "The one we couldn't find when he died. Or… The one you couldn't find. He told me to give it to you when you turned eighteen."

Turning over the band, Lovino found himself speechless. It was so clean, even compared to his fingers that were tainted with grease and dirt. On the inside he noticed an inscription. _'Strength through compassion'_ it read. Of course, that only managed to confuse him more; the elder couldn't remember ever seeing that. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact the old man never took the ring off, not even at insistence from his grandchildren.

"...Thank you," he murmured.

Feliciano just smiled and took the necklace from him and carefully put it over his brother's head, settling it on his chest. It felt out of place, like he didn't deserve it, but Lovino didn't move it. The younger patted his shoulder gently. "Come on. I'm hungry!"

{...}

The canteen was abuzz with people laughing and chatting amicably (for the most part). Romulus had told him that they had mirrored it after a strange description in a book about how the old ReEd buildings used to be- or, schools, as they had been called. Lovino didn't know much about schools, but he did appreciate the fact that there was order in the room and it held a steady flow. In one end, to the middle to eat, and out the other to leave. Large benches that had been constructed out of the scraps found Topside stretched across the wide area.

Jade eyes scanning the room, Lovino quickly found a pair of very familiar figures. It didn't take long for them to notice as well; soon there were two hands waving at the brothers, one with a mop of brown hair that softened the well defined features of its owner and the other with blond locks that were pulled back into a ponytail that showcased a soft face. Both waved back- one more enthusiastically than the other- and slipped into line to get their daily portion of food.

It wasn't much. Mostly hot oats with the occasional pick of fruit if the season was permitting, Lovino could safely say that he was terribly tired of the food, but it was better than starving. Plus, if stocking missions went right, they also could be surprised with slices of meat along with their bowls. There had been no stock runs lately, though. The upcoming mission was far too important to risk any sort of attention on their group at this moment in time. Everyone understood, but that didn't mean they weren't disappointed. It was just one of the downfalls of having to run an underground rebellion (no pun intended) he supposed.

On the way to the table and the seats that had been saved, Lovino was half mortified, half delighted by the birthday wishes that were tossed his way. No one really said anything more than the bare minimum- their enthusiasm was better spent elsewhere that day. He slid onto the bench with his brother only to be practically assaulted by an awkward hug from the brunet- Antonio- from across the table.

"Happy birthday!" he cried happily. "Look at you, all grown up!"

Choking back a yelp, Lovino pushed at the older man, trying desperately to separate them. Antonio was twenty-four. He was like a big brother to him, as was Francis sitting next to him, especially after his grandfather had passed away. They had been taken in one day after escaping a truck bound for a ReEd center. It had been an emotional day for them- Lovino could vaguely remember the two come barging in with some of the border patrol, sobbing, teenage faces soft and afraid, alien to the child as much as they were to the tunnels. Now, though, looking at them, he couldn't see anything but his family. "Antonio!" he chastised. "Get off! I need to eat, jackass!"

His answer was a laugh as the elder pried himself off and sat back down, promptly shoveling another spoonful of the pitiful gruel into his mouth. It seemed it was Francis' turn to show his affection, swooping in for a hug before Lovino could sit down, but he held the pose for a much shorter time. It was for that reason that the boy only had a few grumbles to retort with. Finally, thankfully, he was released and allowed to eat.

"What are your plans for the day?" Francis asked after a few moments of eating in quiet.

Lovino swallowed a bite and pointed vaguely to the entrance of the cafeteria with the end of his spoon. "Get weapons counted," he replied. "Check over the armor, double check my strategy. I'd send some of our people to scout out the area, but we can't risk any slip ups. This has to be perfect." He paused a moment, a thought occurring. "You did get info of the attack to Elizaveta, right?"

The blond scoffed. "Who do you think I am? Of course I got it to her! She knows what we're doing."

Lovino's lips quirked and he nodded. "Good." Elizaveta was one of their inside agents. A woman that kept track of the things that went on, even though it was all on the base level- any hints they could get were important. The more they knew about how the society was run, the better off they were, the safer they were. The more effective they could be. And so the correspondence between Elizaveta and Francis, the latter being the usual messenger to the topside, was quite frequent.

The rest of the meal was rather boring. Boring not because the talk was irritating or that he wished he was somewhere else, but because it was pale in comparison to what was to come in a few meager hours. Once he had cleaned out his bowl, Lovino stood, the first one done. "Let me know when things are done, yeah?" he asked, lips twitching up into a smile. He was met with a chorus of agreements and well wishes until he slipped away to deliver the used bowl back to the kitchens.

There was so much to do.

{...}

"Make sure those guns are loaded and the safety is on! Tell the medics to be ready; if they haven't stocked up on medicine, send out a scout for herbs, one that actually knows what the hell they're doing, we don't want a mishap like last time. Hey! You! Where the fuck do you think you're going? Shock vests belong in the armory; get them out of the hallway!"

Lovino's voice rang out between the metal walls. His authority was unquestionable; everyone knew he was of age now. Everyone knew what he had been aspiring to do for years. Everyone knew that today would be the day that blood was to be shed once again. It was for good reason, though, and everyone knew that, too. It was the whole reason they were there now.

Freedom.

Romulus, Lovino's grandfather, had created a precedence. He had created a life outside of the sheltered society, while still being safe. He had created choice and love and loss and freedom and knowledge. He had created something that would not die, could not die, for he hadn't created it at all. He had simply listened to his heart and his soul, had followed the path out of captivity. What he had really created was a pathway for everyone else. The old man had paved the road to a new beginning- it was hardest on him, yes, but once it was all laid out, it allowed anyone willing to risk the briars and the whipping trees on the edges of the route to follow it through to the end.

Maybe that was why Lovino was so eager to continue the legacy. His journey had been easy; birth inside the tunnels was perhaps one of the best ways to come to be in this hell of a world. Had it been easy? Not entirely. After his mother had given birth to Feliciano, there had been complications that could have been avoided had she been at a facility in the city; Lovino hadn't been allowed to see her only once before she died. Because she could have lived, their father had returned to that old life.

Lovino had always quiet about the night he had been witness to the man stepping out of his life forever, his little four year old feet layered over each other as cold air rushed into the tunnels when the entrance was taken aside. He had watched that previously large figure of a man walk away until his broken back was long gone from sight. Had it been easy? Had he ever spoken of all that went on that night? No. Not really.

Still, all he had gained from that experience was a vigor for their work. If they could get ahold of the technology that the capital had, he couldn't even begin to _imagine_ the benefits that would come from it. No one would leave because of some illness or injury that they couldn't cure, no one would be fearful for a child or of getting sick. The quantity of people that could be attracted- and kept- would increase dramatically. In a fight like this, it wasn't just the skilled that mattered. Every single person that could be recruited was necessary to aide the Pack.

It was like a power that filled him. A determination to bring to pass what Romulus had so desperately sought. Lovino was his breath and blood; the weight of the old man's hand seemed to be on his shoulder even as he stepped into the armory. People were donning the necessary gear that were partly like the city's own but that had been reengineered and made their own. Black vests striped with red settled onto male and female chests alike, fingerless gloves were pulled on, and Lovino watched as nimble hands tied laces on heavy boots.

He was already put together. The weight of the safety measures were like a comfort to him, much like how the gas mask resting below his throat was too much of a norm to go comfortably without. A couple of heads turned up to see him; he simply raised a hand in approval before backing out of the room. Not but a moment later, Antonio came from the same room, adjust the last strap on his vest as he caught up with Lovino.

"So you're sure you want to do this?" he asked as the two of them stepped in time towards the entrance of the tunnels. "I mean, Francis or I could lead. Or one of the… The more experienced guys, y'know?"

While he knew Antonio was just worried about him, the boy couldn't help the frown that marred his face. "I've been waiting my whole life for this," he said. "I know it's risky, I know that I have the complete possibility of dying on my first run. It's not like that hasn't happened to others before. But I have to do this. I promised Grandpa that I would take over when I was an adult. I'm an adult now. I have to fulfil that promise for as long as I can."

"But on your birthday? Lovi, don't you think that's a little-"

"A little what?" he interrupted. "A little soon? A little foolish? I'm an adult, I've stayed out of danger until this day. And what's the difference if I die today or tomorrow?" Pausing, the brunette turned to face him, surprisingly without any anger. They didn't need any rifts right now. Even if Antonio knew he didn't mean it, even if it was his nature, Lovino was doing his damndest to keep everyone together, and that even meant treating the other man like he was supposed to be treated. "If I die today, it's my birthday. It will be one day of mourning a year. One day. If I die tomorrow, it will be a week, because they are so close together. If I die six months from now, that's a month of grief. The best day to die is my birthday because it's one day out of all of them. If I die, I don't want Feliciano to have to spend a day remembering me and then go careening into another day remembering how I died or, if I manage to come back before I go, how I looked when I died. Today is the day. I won't do it any other day."

There was a moment of quiet between them, where the flurry of activity continued around them but there was a bubble that seemed to keep them locked in place. But then Antonio sighed. His gaze fell for a moment before he raised it, giving a nod. "Alright. I trust you, Lovi. Just… Tryreally hard not to get hurt. I can't lose you."

He was quiet for half a moment. Then, he snorted lightly and punched Antonio's arm lightly. "You're such a fucking softie," Lovino said. "Holy shit, you're so damn sensitive. Do I need to give you a farewell kiss too?" Amusement filled his chest as he watched the other man splutter and fluster; they went back and forth in similar ways all the time. He just chuckled. "You have no faith in me. I know all about your stupid little crush; I'm not gonna make you feel guilty by kissing you. But really. I'll be fine. Stop being a mother hen."

Lovino turned before the man could say anything else. A box of arms soon came from the workshops; Lovino took a few and stashed them away once they were loaded and the safety was on. The volume inside the tunnel increased as the people became agitated and ready to move. However, the moment Lovino decided everyone was there and was given a box to stand on top of, it died down so quickly it would have been alarming had the boy not known what it was for. Silence quickly reigned, so thick he swore he could hear a pin drop.

This was it. This was the moment everyone was waiting for. A leader was only a leader if they were worth following. Was he?

Lovino took a deep breath before he began to speak.

"When I was a child, I saw first hand what it was like to be enticed by the seeming utopia of the Capital and this country. I had to deal with the loss of not only my mother, but my father as well, because he blamed us for not being able to save her. He probably wanted me to take his example and see what he saw of this place, but that man only helped to solidify my opinion. The longer I stayed by my grandfather's side, the more I knew just how wrong he was. Sure, we don't have the miracle cures that those others do. Can we save everyone? Of course not. But do we have it better? You bet your ass we do. I would rather die surrounded by friends and family than to live a life like that!" His words rang clear, a couple of shouts raising in agreement.

He raised a hand and it quieted immediately. "Romulus, my grandfather, died nine years ago. He entrusted to me all of you; but he also made me promise him something. I was not to engage the Capital in any sort of combat or resistance movements until I was eighteen. Today is my birthday; I woke up this morning not just an adult, but as someone ready and willing to fulfill that promise. For nine years the Capital has not been bothered. For nine years the Capital has stood tall in the distance, sneering and boasting its evil to all those that have braved the surface. The ceasefire ends tonight! We're going to remind those jackasses that we're still here and we'll never give up! Are you ready?"

The question was less asked than shouted, his words raising in volume and intensity the more he talked. The reaction was just the same, a great cacophony echoing through the tunnels, richoteing where Lovino was half sure everyone could hear it, no matter their current location. If anything, it only made his heart thump louder in his chest and his determination heighten.

"Let's fucking do this!"

His fist hit the air and over the racket, his voice pitched into a wailing howl. The Pack answered back, hands raising up, the eerie call too-loud in the enclosed space, overpowering, leaving Lovino breathless. A debriefing, a call to arms, and a Howl at the end of it all- just as it had been with Romulus. Just as he remembered.

 _This. This was what he had been waiting for._

He took hold of the mask against his chest and held it up to his mouth. A press of a panel had the metal shifting around on soundless gears to tighten to his face, red light glowing between the cracks of the teeth in a way that made the maw appear almost bloody. Lovino turned and gave a nod to man by the control panel for the entrance. The door to the tunnels opened up and, with their leader at the head, the Pack set off to the city.

{...}

Fighting was not what Lovino had thought it would be. It was a lot more hectic, bloodier, scarier than he could have ever imagined. Sure, he'd listened to many stories from people that had been involved in raids and attacks with his grandfather, but nothing compared to the real thing.

The first man that had gone down hadn't been right in front of him, either. In fact, Lovino never did get to see most of the people that fell, whether injured or killed. All he could do was take it into account when someone reported a person down and change the plan according to that.

The gunfire that roared in his ears was only drowned out by the shouts of his own people, the group of roughly thirty-five pressing their way into the surprised and shocked residency. It wasn't the most ideal spot- the people they intended to fear was those in seats of power, not the people, but they had to take what they could get. For a first attack in years, this was definitely not bad at all.

Of all the things that shocked him, though, those didn't compare much to the first wound Lovino sustained. He hadn't been paying attention, yelling and motioning for the group to flank on one side of the lines of militia, involved in that to the point that he didn't realize when those around him separated and left him in an accidental bubble of vulnerability.

One moment he had been fine, and then the next he had felt something foreign slam into his upper arm and ripple pain throughout his whole body, white hot and then ice cold flashing through him. His eyes found a jagged area of exposed flesh, blood bubbling up, the edges blackened with the burn the bullet left behind as it entered into muscle.

Lovino didn't even realize he had faltered- or that he was still in danger for that matter- until hands grabbed his shoulders and dragged him back into the fray of his own people.

"Oh, _shit_ ," a voice hissed in his ear. Ah. Antonio. "That's it, get out of here! Get to Elizaveta; I know the plan, I'll take of this."

"Wh- that's not-"

 _"Lovino Vargas!"_

He flinched, but managed to push Antonio's hand away to place his own over the bloodied area instead. "Fine," he snapped. "Wh, which house is it?" They all looked the same. Identical houses on identical lawns, and with the pain he was trying hard to swallow back, tears brimming in his eyes but not falling, it was even more difficult to distinguish what the numbers on the sidewalks were.

"Five seventy-three."

A loud pop, different than the firing of a gun, cut through the sounds of the fight. The two looked up to see a cannister on the ground, black smoke quickly diffusing through the top. Antonio swore under his breath and grabbed the gas mask- a normal one, not customized like Lovino's- that hung around his neck and pulled it up into place. He made sure not to touch the boy's arm when he pushed him towards the back of the group.

"Go! Get to Eliza, then go through the intel route. Got it?"

Lovino simply nodded. Putting pressure on the wound, he slipped out of the group, sprinting for the wall of houses. It didn't take much to get behind one, the city's militia too focused on the mob as a collective than to keep track of each stray figure. He had to dart through the narrow gaps between the backs of each house- there were no backyards- and try to peer through those areas to see the numbers on the street. Andfuck did his shoulder hurt!

At last he caught a glimpse at the number he remembered Antonio saying. All of a sudden the sounds of shots cut off. Despite himself, he couldn't help a weak little grin- Antonio was doing just as he had planned out. Make a grand entrance, and then swoop back out into the night like nothing had ever happened. Grateful for it, he wasted no time in getting to the window of the house he crouched behind. In a split moment he climbed into the house of five seventy- _four_.

Elizaveta's face was not the one that greeted him. Instead, when footsteps echoed from the hall and a face came into view, it was a man. A man with brown eyes and brown hair. No, a man with brown eyes and brown hair that had weird white streaks at the roots.

Great. Juuuussstt great.

Lovino pressed his hand back to his shoulder, fingers slick with fresh blood as it continued to pour out. The gun in his other hand was only held loosely, but he still pointed the muzzle in the man's general direction. "Say one damn word," he snarled, trying to figure out what to do, "and I will not hesitate to slit your fucking throat." Much to his surprise, the man's eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp, crumpling to the floor.

The man had fainted.

 _How wonderful._


End file.
